


Guns to a Knife Fight

by elumish



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel had never wanted to be Indiana Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns to a Knife Fight

Daniel had never wanted to be Indiana Jones. All his life, he had dreamed of being the one who brought words to a knife fight, who won because he had the right information and the moral high ground, not the biggest gun. He had been proud of having never fired a gun, of not liking blood, of being harmless.

The gun came first. He spent hours in the firing range instead of sleeping, wanting to see the bullets rip through Apophis’s glowing fucking eyes, wanting to gut Jaffa alive—and it would be easy, just pull out their symbiote. Wanting to kill. And he hated himself. He hated himself so much he couldn’t stand to look himself in the mirror, not just because he had lost Sha’re and Skaara and Abydos but because he could see the violence in his eyes, just like he had seen it in the eyes of the Jaffa, of Ra. And he had always thought himself above that, but they had dragged him down to their level, and he would use that hatred, but it didn’t mean he would forgive himself for it.

He got over his dislike for blood faster. It was hard not to, as much of it as they saw, and somehow in his head blood had started to mean life as much as it meant death, because if blood was still coming, it meant the heart was still beating, and there was a chance.

And then he saw Sha’re again, large with Apophis’s child, and he wasn’t sure if the revulsion was for her or for himself, because he had _given up_. He had resigned himself to never finding her, to her being as good as dead, and then she _wasn’t_ , and he wasn’t sure how to live with himself. And then, just as quickly, she was gone, and he had to relearn how to breathe.

It was easier that second time to get over Sha’re. He didn’t know why, didn’t want to know why. None of the possible answers seemed particularly flattering to him. Because he didn’t love her now that she had had Apophis’s child? Because he had done all of the grieving he was going to do in a lifetime, and now he was just empty?

Because he knew she was alive?

And then she wasn’t, and he hated Teal’c, hated Jack, hated Carter, hated the Stargate, the Mountain, the whole damn world. Hated the galaxy, the universe, for existing when Sha’re no longer did.

Hated himself for existing when Sha’re no longer did.

And then that faded too, and he was left with a person he could (couldn’t?) look in the mirror (because it wasn’t him he was seeing in the mirror, it was a soldier/an archeologist/a killer). Because if mirrors didn’t show you anymore, were they still mirrors? Or were they just photographs, moving, shifting, the facial expressions matching yours when the face no longer did.

Because somewhere along the lines he started taking guns to a knife fight (when did that happen?), and he wasn’t sure if he had ever held the moral high ground.

Because somewhere along the lines, he forgot to be harmless.


End file.
